The Mad Teaparty
by doughnutmagic
Summary: UPDATED No quote for this chapter....sorry guys
1. Prologue: Part One

**The Mad TeaParty**

_Prologue: Part One_

The fall afternoon smiled upon everyone, the men, women, and children. The forsaken, the sinners and the saints, anyone who happened to be out on such a glorious morning had some sort of bounce to their step be it small or large. All except the jester.

Belial meandered slowly down the fairly empty gravel pathways of the park in the middle of the town. Why it had settled there, no one but it could have known. It was a small town, where everyone was in everyone else's business, surely not a place for a gender ambiguous clown. Still, there it was among the tall elm and oak trees, looking almost serenely at the surroundings.

A group of teenagers dressed in black tried to smoke without being noticed in a group of bushes far off the beaten path. Also in it's line of vision was a mother pushing two younglings in a stroller, one had carrot red hair and blue eyes, the other dark black with brown eyes.

_Naughty, naughty,_ Belial thought with a smirk rising to it's slim lips, _mommy's been a bit busy on maternity leave, hasn't she?_

This whole 'holy community' thing was more of a fraud than it seemed. The smoking teenagers, the mother with babies from two different men, and now up ahead, a man talking to a little girl that was sitting alone on a bench. The clown's smirk faded. She was so innocent and trusting, that little girl-she smiled up at the man, her two front teeth missing, as he leered down at her almost licking his chops. She had no mother in sight, no guardian-so she must be out on her own.

Since the scene was on it's way, Belial decided to interfere with the man's plans. It enjoyed the trouble it caused, and mainly this was the reason that it did stop, not for the little girl's sake, but for the sake of it's own amusement.

"Excuse me, sir," the clown interrupted as the man was going to take the girl's hand, "by what way of logic do you see yourself fit to be in the presence of such an...Angelic little girl?"

The man bristled, and lifted his head expecting to find a man there, only to find a white face, with a mask of black around the eyes. "Fuck off, freak." The five o'clock shadow on his face gave him a more gruff appearance, still Belial noticed that he could be quite handsome if he had shaved. And his clothes were casual, even though he carried himself like a businessman. He obviously was from the city a few miles away.

"Not in the presence of such innocence," Belial pretended to scold the man, it's mouth turning into a smirk once more.

"Listen, freak, why don't you keep on walking?" He glanced over the intruding stranger and frowned. He couldn't tell what shoes this 'guy' was wearing, but pants and coat 'he' wore, both in black set him on edge. "I don't need no...Goth telling me what to do."

"Goth? No. Mearly just appreciating the absence of color, and light."

"What the fuck do you want, clown?" It was comical to Belial how a vein on the man's head almost popped out, it was getting to him, and it knew it too.

"To invite this youngling to a tea party," it's smirk grew and it produced a bouquet of deep purple and black flowers out of nothing and handed it to the little girl, who giggled and took the flowers, pressing them to her nose to smell.

All by her logic the new stranger was a nice person. This, Chuck, as he called himself, who told her that her mother was waiting for her at home didn't have flowers. This new person did, and they said they were going to throw her a tea party. Mommy could wait. And that was six-year-old logic.

"Lemme go!" The girl began trying to wrench her tiny hand from Chuck's big one, "I wanna tea party!"

Chuck's bushy eyebrows narrowed at Belial, "don't screw with me clown," he growled.

_Such an unnecessary display of testosterone._ It looked down at the little girl whom seemed close to a panic. "Your little agenda would be ruined if she began to get frightened and scream. Be sure no parent in the park wouldn't mind taking a criminal like yourself in."

The man's free fist clenched, he knew that asshole was right, and he hated it, but still he let the girl go. He watched as the figure in black simply opened a black lace-gloved hand for the girl to take. The girl took it and smiled up at the jester, who only patted her head in return.

"Until next time, sir." Belial mimed tipping a hat to him and turned leading the girl off.

No words were said as they walked off the path and across one of the many open patches of grass, that afternoon. The girl simply smiled, her braids bouncing behind her. Her hair faded from a mousy brown at the root to a fair blonde at the end, signaling that as she grew her hair would darken. She wore a bright green T-shirt, with equally as bright blue shorts, and generic tennis shoes that Belial believed to have come from a Payless or some such place.

Such is the look of a small town girl that has no inkling of who she will be in ten years, the jester thought a grin almost playing upon its lips.

They headed past the smokers and into the lush green woods that the park held. It was man made, though it looked like something from a storybook. Clear paths, random clearings, clear streams and bubbling brooks dotted the little forest.

As they walked the girl brought the flowers to her nose, every few minutes, smiling whenever she did. The flowers were not colorful, but they were beautiful to her, she loved them.

The odd pair stepped into a clearing a stream ran quietly along one side. The grass was green, and the occasional toadstool that popped up from the carpet of grass was a rosy red. The little girl's eyes widened with wonder, such a place didn't exist in the park as far as she knew. She let go of the stranger's hand and ran about swinging the bouquet laughing merrily.

Belial watched for a moment, amusement playing in its eyes. It shuddered to think that it seemed to have a soft spot for the child somewhere. "Come, child," the clown's voice seemed to echo through the clearing.

The girl paused and walked back over to Belial looking up almost pleading not to leave. When the stranger said nothing the girl looked down at the flowers and frowned. "Sit down."

The child looked up to see that the stranger was no longer in front of her, she turned in alarm and came upon a wondrous sight. There sat the stranger, seated at a little table that seemed to be made out of the same grass that covered the earth where she stood--there were also a few matching chairs around the table. The stranger was at one, next was a chair that held a stuffed doll, and across from the stranger was an empty seat. Her seat. She ran and then neatly sat herself across from the stranger.

The tablescape was an event in itself. The dishes, the teapot, the sugar bowl, even the stirring spoons seemed to be made out of nearly translucent purple glass--what awed her about that was there were little pink veins running through it, in an almost flowery pattern.

How this just appeared out of nowhere brought a question to the child's mind:

"Who are you?"

"One's name is Mad Hatter."

"I'm Liza." The clown only nodded as it gracefully picked up the teapot, and offered some to the girl. The saucer and cup were picked up and the liquid was poured into it.

"What are we drinking, Mad Hatter?"

"Tea." Belial watched as the girl's nose crinkled in disgust. "I assure you, child, this is nothing like the tea you may have had before. You will enjoy it."

Still wary, Liza picked up the cup slowly, and brought it to her lips, she tentatively took a first sip and then she gulped the rest down greedily. It tasted like vanilla and chocolate--her two favorite things in existence...but this was tea. "Mad Hatter, how did you-"

"It's simple child. One is nothing but a jester." Belial began to explain with it's actions, to show Liza what it meant. It reached into it's right sleeve and slowly pulled back revealing festively colored cloths all strung together in a fantastically long rope. For nearly five minutes the clown pulled out the cloths before it came to a black one. "Now watch." It rolled the black cloth into a ball and hid it in it's hands and then tossed it into the air, and somehow the black cloth had turned into a pitch black raven, with the cloth that came before it tied to one of it's small feet.

Normally, it wouldn't have bothered to show off the mear parlor trick it could easily do, but the clown wanted to keep the girl's affections. What that meant to it wasn't clear, not even to Belial itself, but it had this feeling...

"So you can do whatever you want?"

"One can do anything if One's master permits." Liza's brow furrowed, but she asked nothing of this new person's 'master'.

The afternoon wore on, the girl and the clown passed the time by drinking tea, and Belial performing little tricks every now and then.

Liza even told Belial a story, her imagination soaring as she described a fantasy world. "There is dew on the pale blue grass all the time. There are huge periwinkle toadstools and a deep royal purple sky all day, with two moons always shining. The flowers, are little lights, in all shades of blue, and the bushes they are on glow from them. The trees are huge; everything about them is. The leaves are as big as your face..."

On and on she went, Belial just sat and listened silently, just nodding where it was called for. This young one had such an imagination, she had created such a beautiful world in blue and purple hues.

When darkness began to fall, the girl's rant drew to a close, and the clown spoke:

"Is that where you would reside if you could?" Liza tilted her head, the vocabulary was foreign to her.

"...Reside?" Belial smirked softly.

"Live, child. Live."

"Oh...yes. All by myself." Liza straightened herself, waiting intently for the next bit of conversation.

This was curious to the jester. A little girl whom seemed to have such a happy existence wanting to leave her family and her little friends behind? "Why not take your loved ones with you?"

"I don't love them," she began to mess with one of her braids obviously uncomfortable with revealing what she had so openly said. Liza knew it wasn't right, or at the very least normal not to love her family.

Belial said no more. It understood, and wasn't about to probe even further, it was late and the girl should be missed by now. "Gather your things, child."

Panic came across Liza's face, "but--"

"One believes it is time for One to leave. Surely you cannot stay here alone." The clown stood and gestured to the flowers, "keep them if you wish."

Liza stood, picked her blue shorts from where they had ridden up, putting them back into a normal presentable position, and clutched onto the bouquet, walking silently and slowly from the grass table and chairs.

Belial followed putting a guiding hand on the girl's shoulder, leading her out of the clearing, back throughout the perfectly made paths, through the park and out onto the street of the town. It lead the little girl lead it down one street, right onto another and then right onto another before making a left onto a residential street.

Liza led it to a little white house with a dark green trim on the far end of the cookie cutter street. She looked up at it, the front light was on, and she could see a figure pacing in the front window. Maybe she had been gone too long. The girl sighed, and looked up at the stranger that had, in her opinion, become her friend. "Goodbye, Mad Hatter," she paused and then added, "thank you for taking me home."

Belial glanced down at the girl without movement, and then slowly, as if it's arm were lead, it patted the girl on the head, "not goodbye, child--only a brief intermission." Before the girl could once more question it's vocabulary, the clown produced a doll and handed it to her. "Now go inside."

It watched the girl jog down the cement path and put her hand on the door, her arms stuffed with gifts. She attempted a wave, only to drop the doll and the flowers, hastily she picked them up, taking her eyes off the figure on the street.

A creak sounded. An alarmed Liza squeaked in surprise and clutched the doll and flowers to her chest, her mother stood at the door looking down at her, tears in the corners of her old eyes.

"Elizabeth! Where in god's name have you been? Your father and I were worried sick!" The woman scooped up her child in her arms and brought her inside.

Over her mother's shoulder, Liza brought her eyes back to the street. The Mad Hatter was gone; before the thought fully registered, she was dropped gently onto the couch between her mother and father.

"Elizabeth, where did you get those things?" Her father tried to pry the bouquet out of her arms, but she screamed. His hands were big and callused they were too clumsy to hold the delicate arrangement without damaging it.

"No! Leave them alone!" Her father hastily withdrew his hand and placed it on his knee.

"But..." her mother paused, unsure of how to approach the subject, she sighed and closed her eyes before looking around their living room as if searching for an answer. A cream leather chair and sofa, white bare walls, and a big screen TV stared back at her. She still didn't know what to say.

"From who?"

"A friend."

"Who!" Her father's tone scared her she shrunk against the back of the couch, her grip only tightening.

"The Mad Hatter," she whispered.

"...What?" Liza's mother tilted her chin up to look at her, "baby, who?"

"The Mad Hatter," she now said with confidence. Then, knowing they'd want a full explanation she began a full account of the afternoon's events, her time in the park and all. When it was over, Liza watched her parents' exchange the _'look'_.

"Bill?"

"Later," was all he ground out before rising and walking to the back of his house. His daughter just described something that was frightening--first a man tried to take her somewhere in the park, and then the Mad Hatter had taken her to tea.

_It's shock...she's in shock,_ he told himself as he paced in his bedroom, _tomorrow we'll call someone and she'll be okay. I know it._

"I swear I'm not lying," he heard his daughter scream from the other room. Then, softly:

"Honey, the Mad Hatter isn't real."

_End of … Prologue: Part One_

**A.N.**It took me the better part of three hours over a couple of days to finish this chapter, and as of yet it's probably the longest chapter I've written. This whole thing started off as just something to add to when I got bored, but then the plot arch began to take hold, and behold: five pages of Hatter goodness. I do believe the Mad Hatter is my favorite character to write, after _Breaking the Habit_ I've been itching to write something else centered around he/she/it.

I think I've done a fairly good job so far (I hope so anyway) and I'm also hoping others think so too. If not, fine-just tell me what I need to work on.

Anyway, review please—anything even just a 'please continue' inspires me to keep going just that much more. (It also boosts the ego, and that can't hurt can it? )

**Disclaimer:** (for the whole fic) I own nothing that even resembles Kaori Yuki's work. I own Liza, her family, friends, and the concept.


	2. Prologue: Part Two

**The Mad Teaparty**

_Prologue: Part Two_

It was later in the evening when it passed through the charcoal black corridors, of the great Demon Lord Lucifer. The marble floors reflected the sin's face back at it, as the clown serenely made it's way to it's Master's chambers, wondering if there would soon be a time for him to return.

It had been nearly an infinite number of centuries since the great war, and the fall of many of the great Angels in Heaven including Lucifiel, the Morning Star, and Baru-who was now known as Barbelo, the sin of Wrath. There were many others, but none of them crossed the mind of Belial, it was to intent on it's destination-and the person it was going to see.

Before the reign of Lucifer, Sheol was a dead and barren place. The ground was hard and dry as a dirt black stone, the sky was a cloudless tepid gray, and any sign of life was almost certainly a mirage. That changed after Michael, the fire wielder, the great leader of Powers cast his twin from Heaven. When Lucifer arrived in Sheol he made himself one with the dead lands, and in turn gave the plain of Sheol life. But when the now beautiful land is harmed, it weeps Lucifer's crimson blood.

A right, a left-another left and two more rights, a flight of stairs and two lefts brought Belial to face the dark oak of the gargantuan doors of Lucifer's throne room. It walked in immediately met with the sight of the Hell-king's bloated body, which was hundreds of times what it should be.

It walked in a few feet before bowing it's head, keeping its eyes respectfully to the ground in the presence of it's Master. "Soon One will have your bride, Lord Lucifer. Your nine hundred and ninety eighth bride will be a refreshing addition to your...collection." It paused, as if expecting an answer from the vacant shell, but Belial knew that it's Master's consciousness resided elsewhere. "One already has a beautiful maiden in mind, Lord. One vows not to disappoint you."

Belial stood, having said what it came to say, and left the room at a hurried pace. Disrespect to it's Master, weather he could hear it or not was not allowed.

The clown knew that it was Lord Lucifer's only truly loyal servant. All of the other sins and upper class demons had their own agenda, making a twisted web of alliances, that instead of helping to catapult themselves into power, only hindered them that much more.

Belial took no part in any of these games the others loved so much to play, because when Lord Lucifer returned in all his malevolent glory, that he could not help but love, and want it. And then, and only then, would Belial be truly free.

As it continued through the maze of a palace, deep in it's own thoughts--the jester failed to notice a being coming in the opposite direction. Step after step, and it's eyes remained vacant and glazed over in nightmare-ish daydreams of the day it could hate Lucifer.

A man caught it by the shoulders of it's clean black coat, only for an instant before Belial disappeared in a haze of purple fog. The man's smirk, which seemed inseparable from his face only widened--he had managed to catch Pride off guard.

"Belial, Belial," he mockingly scolded into the empty hallway, "it seems you've been out of your head lately. Maybe I could help?"

Hesitatingly, the jester reappeared, almost materializing out of one of the breathing walls, a small, but noticeable frown plain upon it's delicate face. Venom dripped from every syllable:

"One would like to remind you, Asmodeus, that only Master can address One with One's real name without the penalty of death."

Knowing he had touched a nerve, Asmodeus, the sin of Lust continued with his favorite pastime: annoying Belial. In some twisted way, he loved it--it didn't want him, and that intrigued the sin and tormented his dreams at the same time. He could have any woman he wanted, on Assiah, or in Hell...but Belial was unattainable. Belial was the ultimate prize.

"My most sincere apologies, Mad Hatter." Lust hung his head, feigning shame. "But," he looked up, "if you're still having problems keeping your mind where you are...perhaps I could take you to my chambers and show you a few new ways to stay caught up in the moment?"

_That...thing will never quit, will he?_ Belial shook its head in disgust, for once breaking it's usually calm mask to make a face. Never, would she ever even fathom doing anything of the sort with...

"Asmodeus-though One does remember turning down your offer last time we crossed paths," it paused not knowing how to put it without being redundant. It couldn't find any possible way at the moment-a quick exit was on it's agenda, so the clown let the sentence hang. "One is to serve only Lord Lucifer."

Belial turned on it's heel and began to saunter off, thinking it had won the brief battle of wits and tongues.

Lust on the other hand only smirked and shook his head, letting the jester get to the end of the hall before he muttered:

"Serving and servicing are two completely different things."

___A conscience. Why does _One need one, wondered the clown as it laid in the center of it's part of the castle. Belial didn't have a large section of the massive building to call it's own, but what it had was good enough. Using it's dark magick it took the dilapidated wing, which used to be fit for a worthless waste of space, and turned it into a beautiful forested area.

It was always night there, and the trees which nearly went to the high ceilings were always lit with fireflies. There was a huge boulder with a wedge cut out of it in the center of Belial's domain. It had covered the large, smooth flat space with hundreds of purple pillows, making it a comfortable place to lounge or to ponder--not sleep. Belial rarely slept.

Now as it sat there, arm lifted into the air, as if beckoning something, the jester was reminded of the child from Assiah. Why the girl popped into it's head eluded the sin, usually anyone it encountered that wasn't of importance to it's Master was forgotten.

"What intrigues me about that child..." Belial questioned aloud. Then, almost as soon as the last syllable left it's lips one of the jester's many pet butterflies landed on it's hand that it had lifted toward the night sky only moments earlier. The butterflies were abnormal--all of them were as big as dinner plates, and all were different shades of deep purple. The butterflies were Belial's only real companions—so it gave them the ability to speak to it. It brought it's hand down to look at it's friend and unbeknownst to the clown, it sighed.

___You know the sorrow that the youngling harbors all too well_, Belial looked to the butterfly waiting for it to continue as the creature slowly flapped it's wings._Both of you have more in common than you'd like to admit...and in a way she has accomplished what you still cannot._

It's blue eyes shot open as the full effect of what the insect had just revealed sunk in. The butterfly was correct, as irritating as it was--Belial, unlike the girl, was not free to feel as it wished. It was bound by warped judgement, and corrupt values of itself and others, while the girl, pure and innocent as she is can look it in the eye, and with no humor in her voice proclaim the hatred she has for her family.

Allowing it's body to pass halfway through the rock, the jester's head looked sullenly out upon the forest, _"One is bound by One's own emotions, and yet the child's seem to set her free. Is One...weak? Is One blind to what is around, One?"_

The butterfly, who had been robbed of it's perch in the sin's little fit, lazily waved it's wings at it's creator._You're correct._

"Correct in what manner?"

___You since the time you lived in Yetzeriah, you always used your sexuality as a weapon to entice the male angels to succumb to you._

___You would do anything to feel that motion once more, to suck on that vile male organ and hear the guttural sounds they make--that alone was one of the only satisfactions in life that you had. Sex was and still is taboo to angels, and it seems before you came along, there was no want or need for it. _

___You are the disease that started the plague that is cutting down angels one by one. Sevoharthe is executing more of his own men, than your side had in the last great war...if it weren't for you their army would be ten times stronger than it is now._

_"One has done One's Lord a great service then." _It watched as the butterfly took off from the pillow it was on to flap about the jester's head in frustration, before landing once more.

___That is where your service to your lord ends. You then were so disgusted by the way men lusted for you, that when you realized that sex was not only a weapon, but an addiction. You quit giving those quick encounters under their desks or in closets, and tried to pretend to be everything you weren't...holy and innocent_. Belial flinched, at the memories the insect was bringing up--those were times the jester did not want to revisit.

___That's when you were raped was it not? When you were working in the lab, waiting for the Virtue Raphael when you were seized by a co-worker and taken advantage of in a back room. Yes, you remember how much it hurt--you remember the hatred._

___Men do nothing but abuse their power and take advantage of the women, who lay back and let themselves be repeatedly harmed, was that not your logic?_

Belial took a feeble swat at the butterfly, wanting it to shut up. It didn't want to hear about this again, but the winged creature only continued it's assault from the air:

___So you took those drugs, to keep yourself from being one of those fated females. Have the best of both worlds, I assume? And then you fell, following the one man who never looked at you as a piece of meat, blindly as a lost dog. Each time you tried to seduce him he struck out at you in disgust--and you loved it--nothing as worthless as you was worth his time._

___Your love is your weakness, Belial, it keeps you bound to a man that will never give you what you want, and you are blind because you cannot see it. You will forever be his most vile pet, his lapdog--and everyone can see it but you._

The jester out of nowhere grabbed the butterfly by one of it's shimmering wings and rose up out of the rock. It's face was serene as always, but it's eyes shone with murder--even if it was only an enchanted butterfly, Belial wanted to kill.

"One hopes this little insect took pleasure in being a kill joy, but One would like to inform this little insect that it is out of place in speaking to One in such a manner."

The butterfly was quiet and so Belial began to dig one of it's nails into the small creature's wings. Promptly being answered with a scream. "A screaming butterfly? Enchanting," snarled the jester through the corner of it's mouth. It was now tired of playing with the butterfly, so it made slow work of killing it, shredding it's wings from the outside in, leaving the body intact--letting it scream all it wanted.

"Enchanting, indeed..."

___End of…Prologue: Part One_

**A.N.**Okay, I apologize. This chapter is later than I would have liked, and it's shorter. Hey-I tried, but I couldn't squeeze anything else out-my inspiration was running out. Oh, and for the grammar and spelling mistakes, I do use spell check, but everything grammatically that I left, is there because that's how I have to write it for the Hatter, or it'll sound wrong.

I like the way in the first part where Mad Hatter calls Asmodeus a 'thing'—ironic in a very big way, really. The whole point of this part of the prologue is to show that right off the bat, that Mad Hatter isn't without feeling, or shame, or hurt…then again, Mad Hatter also hates, and spites. It truly is like us in a way…you know, except for the sexless thing.

Anyway—now that I'm done with the Prologues, I can start on the actual story part of the story. Yes! Keep checking back every week or so, I'm going to work for weekly updates, whilst trying to get Sober is Relative done too. Do review both. Katou and Hatter thank you...in some way...

Oh—and thank you to **Firedanser27, Shiro Ryuu, VoodooPriestess, MidnightScribbler, **and the Anonymous **Violet, **and** sesshys desire** for reviewing, and making me that much more willed to continue. You all deserve a cookie, and the opportunity to review again.


	3. Chapter One

**The Mad Teaparty**

_Chapter One_

"Elizabeth," the girl, who was hastily trying to make her escape winced and paused. She bit her lip and turned slowly, to meet her maker.

"Honey, where are you going?" Liza's mother stood at the doorway of their little suburban home with her hands clasped together in worry. Ever since that day all those years ago, the thought of her daughter being somewhere without her knowing brought a panic in her.

"...To school," the teenager yelled back and turned around, her generic shoes squeaking on the cracked concrete. She could hear her mother laugh nervously to herself--she could almost feel that woman wringing her hands.

She continued down the rows of perfectly painted houses, and well trimmed lawns--getting only three houses away before she heard her mother yell the sentence that had come to make her life a living hell:

"Call me when you get there...and make good choices, dear!"

Liza pretended to ignore it, and continued down the street--near the end she made out the silhouette of her only friend at Oak Park High.

It was in the early part of the year, only midway through October, but she doubted anyone else would befriend her. Almost all the kids there she had grown up with--they knew her story and she knew theirs. Bea Glaskey was the only one who didn't care that she was friends with Elizabeth Mansell: Oak Park's resident nut case.

"You made a good choice in stopping by this morning," came the first of many quick-witted remarks to come from Bea. The blonde haired girl handed Liza a banana, "don't choke this time."

The fruit was greedily snatched and held above her head like a treasure before the starving girl undressed it. "God, Bea--you are a Queen."

"Make the 'queen bee' joke one more time and I swear to god..." the sentence hung. She couldn't find any way to threaten her friend.

"What you'll give me another banana?"

"Exactly." They both laughed and continued down the main road without even realizing where they were. Both girls were on auto-pilot, they had walked this route for four years, and they'd be walking it for another two.

"...How do you think this year's going to be for us, Bea," Liza suddenly remarked out of nowhere.

Her friend sighed, not wanting to get into this subject again. She knew Liza has always felt guilty for Bea's lack of social encounters--both of them knew it was because of their friendship, but she honestly didn't mind. "Liz..."

"You can't honestly tell me that if we weren't friends that you wouldn't be hanging out with the popular kids: Andrew Benson, or Kailie Marsh. You're beautiful, Bea--everyone at Oak Park knows it, and every day people see you hanging out with me and wonder why you're hanging out with the Freak Queen, because you have everything it takes to be one of them."

"You're not a freak." Liza shook her head.

"Tell that to them."

An uncomfortable silence hung in the air as they both paused at the crosswalk right across from the school's main entrance. Even as they walked onto campus, and the first downcast glance was thrown Liza's way, they still said nothing.

Finally, Liza stopped:

"I've got to go to the office."

"Why?" Liza rolled her eyes and over dramatically sighed.

"She wants me to call."

So off she went walking through the crowded and unfriendly halls of her prison, toward the front office, where everyday she asked to use the phone to call her mother. Every single time, the thought of just ignoring her request came to mind, but then she remembered what happened the last time she did that. She'd rather not get called down to the office to find her mother and a police officer waiting for her.

I hate her...I absolutely hate her…

"Good morning, Miss Mansell, your mother asked you to call?" The receptionist, Mrs. Laurence smiled with her over lipsticked-lips and handed her the phone. "Dial nine first, dear."

"Yeah, yeah," Liza muttered and did as instructed before punching in her number--halfway through the first ring her mom answered. The woman waited by the phone.

"Oh my god--Elizabeth? I thought you were kidnapped or something!" The teenager groaned.

"Mom, I was talking with Bea alright, just calm down, I'm not going to get kidnapped."

The receptionist who always took mild interest in the calls the students made, paused in her typing and listened intently. She also knew of Liza's past. The poor girl's mother had made sure of that by making every staff member go to a meeting headed by the neurotic woman. She wanted Liza to be treated with the up-most care, and sympathy for her past.

"--I'm going to first period, Jesus...no, I am going to take your stupid lord's name in vain. Yes...yes I am a Satanist. That's right, as soon as I get to school I pull on my leather mini-skirt and pentagram necklace. Goodbye."

Liza slammed the phone down and growled before realizing she had a small but attentive audience.

Five...four...three...two...

The phone rang. Mrs. Laurence picked it up and was dismayed to hear Liza's mother on the other line. After a few pleading statements, and a threat to come down there and take her child to a place that would help her uphold her Catholic duties, Mrs. Laurence promised to send Liza to the school councilor. The older woman looked to the girl and smiled apologetically--it was out of her hands.

Not even five minutes later, Liza was walking down the clean shiny floors of the seemingly empty high school. Typical school for a typical town, in a typical state, in a huge fucking country...why the fuck did my parents move here?

Groaning in a way that could be described as disgruntled she turned left and knocked at the heavy wooden door that appeared in front of her. In her school, the lobby to the councilors offices had a door. She was let in by a rather round woman, a substitute she guessed, not the normal counseling receptionist.

"I'm here to see Mr. Greenberg," she said quietly. The woman just nodded and waddled over to the office door where Liza's generic shrink sat and waited to feed her bullshit excuses; it opened quickly, too quickly for the teenager's liking.

"Elizabeth--hello again," Mr. Greenberg had an overcautious voice that he used with everyone he spoke with. Almost as if a normal tone would break everything in the room. He motioned into the room and stepped out of the way as she wordlessly stepped in and sat down in the uncomfortably padded chairs. "Having parent troubles again?"

"Again? ...to use that word it would to have stopped...It hasn't stopped since I was five." She set her bag on the floor and leaned back folding her legs and arms once more. Assuming the position she rolled her eyes, receiving a quirked brow from the old man.

"Really?"

"No, I like lying to councilors--gives me quite a joy-gasim."

"Sarcasm isn't appreciated here, Elizabeth."

"It's all I've got left..." The man shut the door and turned, sitting in his desk chair and went to work on methodically stroking his beard.

"Why do you say that?"

Liza sighed and shifted a bit before tilting her head, cracking her neck causing Mr. Greenberg to wince. "Everything else...my pride, any self-worth...friends, understanding, being treated like I'm competent, it's all gone." She sighed, "I haven't been talked to like I was intelligent since I was a child. She still thinks I'm five, and he's afraid to look at me."

"Do you think that was because of your assault?" The girl bristled, her arms unfolding to grip the arm rests.

"I was not assaulted, god dammit. I was not molested, or raped, or asked to talk dirty to some forty-year-old business man from Manhattan."

"...It is okay to talk about it, Elizabeth."

"Nothing happened," she shouted, her knuckles were a pasty white from gripping the chair so hard, and her face had gained a bit of color. "Why does everyone think I was molested?"

The councilor, who was always a rather passive man, winced once more at the tone, and shrank back a bit, from her. It was true, all of the psychiatrists, councilors, and her parents believed that she was molested. "That story you told your mother about...Having tea with the Mad Hatter I think I was? It sounds an awful lot like something a child would use to concentrate on anything but the, uh, attack."

"I wasn't molested."

"Admitting it is the first step to recovery...you can get through this."

"I think I would know what happened to me..."

"I think you're trying to forget."

"I think you're regurgitating a bunch of shit that the real shrinks fed you. You wouldn't be talking any of this shit if you didn't have that fat fucking folder glued to the top of your desk. No one else was there, no one in the park saw anything happen, no one saw me leave with him. Why does everyone think I'm nuts?"

"Everyone thinks you're nuts?"

"Didn't I just say that?"

He, by now, just wanted her gone. Mr. Greenberg was very professional, having his intentions, and integrity questioned was one of the worst insults imaginable to him. So he uttered the one phrase that set her off the wall:

"...And how does that make you feel?"

After a lengthy and harsh tongue-lashing via her parents, Liza walked down the clean carpeted hall to her room, slamming her door as loud as she could. And so began her three day suspension.

Just because I threw his mug at the fucking wall, she grumbled as she sat on the downy black comforter that covered her bed. This is bullshit. She looked around her room and smiled. It was perfect for her:

The white carpeting that was in the hall, spilled into her room, making the deep purple walls almost pop, she had all black furniture, a table by her black metal bed, and a large black desk on the other side of the room, which neighbored her bookcase, and stereo. Her walk-in closet, which was almost like a second room, had a black velvet couch, and candles on one side of it, and all her clothes on the other.

Semi-normal clothes too. She wasn't Goth like most of the so-called freaks at her school were, but that wasn't all by choice. Her mother wanted her to dress sensibly, a nice Catholic girl can't dress in dark colors more than a couple times a week or then she's a Satanist...or so her mom believed.

I want a normal life, with normal parents, and a sibling to take all the shit that rolls off me after it hits the fan. The teenager sighed and brushed her deep brown hair off her shoulders and looked at her bedside table.

Even though they didn't believe her, and they thought she was crazy, her parents didn't have the heart to take the flowers and the doll that she'd shown up with at home that night...that and when they tried she screamed, kicked and bit until they left her room. The flowers were dried now, but they were still beautiful to her, and the doll, which she secretly brought into bed to sleep with at night, was faded and worn, barely avoided holes at the seams.

Everything she knew told her that she was crazy, told her that whatever she thought happened that day wasn't true. They told her teaparty was a story she used to take her mind off the 'attack'. They told her lots of things...but she never believed them.

The day after she was on the news her mother had called the police, the TV stations, she was even on 60 Minutes. She was in therapy and counseling for the next eight years, and every session they'd try to bring out some wild confession of what really happened. They never got it.

So, she became Oak Park City's resident freak.

Liza waited in her room for hours for food to come, and at around seven bread and water were brought in for her by her father. He didn't look at her, instead he just grunted for her to eat because he'd be back in thirty minutes to get the glass and plate.

Thirty minutes later, he walked back in with the food untouched, and still he didn't look to her, he just took the items and left her once again.

Sleep evaded her that night, like it did most nights, the doll was clutched to her chest, and her covers were kicked to the bottom of the bed. The thought that she was waiting for someone, but there was no one that cared to see her.

Soon she became aware of another presence in her room...

Belial stood there in the shadows of the girl's room, silent as stone, and just as still. It's arms folded, pulling it's black frock coat tight across it's back, the bright white ruffled sleeves of it's shirt poked out from beneath. It, though it would never admit it aloud, had nearly missed the girl. It had always known it would return to check up on the girl called Liza, but it never had decided when until earlier in the evening.

The hunt for it's Master's nine hundred and ninety ninth bride had been successful, and for a while longer Sheol and the other layers of hell were in relative safety once more.

"Hello again, child."

Liza looked over at the figure that had haunted her dreams since she was six, alarm being the last thing on her mind--it still looked the same. Blood red hair, and a face that rivaled the purity of snow, that was only tainted by a mask of black about the eyes. It...why did she think that?

Maybe because I don't know what 'it' is...

"Mad Hatter...?"

The clown locked it's icy blue eyes to her azure ones showing it had given her it's full attention. Belial could tell what was coming, but it had no intention of answering until the girl asked. It was only fair to her.

"...What...are you? I mean, are you a man or a woman."

"One is neither." It watched as the confusion spread itself over Liza's delicate features. Cute it thought before shaking the notion from it's mind only to smirk back at the girl.

"How?"

"It is a rather extensive story, that One does not wish to go into."

"Give me the short version...be blunt." Belial's smirk widened. This girl was playing right into it's hands--humans were so ironic in that way. It paused a moment before answering:

"One is one of the Seven Satans."

End: Chapter One 

**A.N.** Shit shit shit shit shit shit shit shit—I am so sorry for the way past late update guys, Summer is winding down, and I'm getting busy with Color Guard, and boys and oh lord, I apologize. But **surprise** I haven't forgotten about this story, and as promised (sort of) I have updated for you all.

This chapter though as hard to pound out as it was has turned out to be a favorite of mine. Why so? This is where the plot finally begins! The prologue(s) were the set up, and now finally, I can move things along. And hopefully have it done sometime before next year.

No worries, I will not abandon this fic. (It's the first fic I've written that people are reviewing like crazy for…I've always wanted a story where reviewers would like cheer for a character or yell at me for doing something because they like it so much…such a silly dream of mine.) The Hatter has seen some mighty awful fics in the past, and I'm trying to do it justice and some damn originality…dammit. offers more cookies

The List of Thanks:

**Voodoo Priestess, TheStarrsOfTheSecertGalaxy, Violet, Fetal Mind, sesshys desire, Silent Sage, Riko-chan, Sarah126, **and **Shiro Ryuu.**


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